The Aftermath Of Loving A Narcissist.

Our game is over.
We can keep fighting, cuddling, crying and shanking each other in the most intimate wounds we shared when trust was the drug we shot each other up with, but I have no trust left to give you.

I don’t know who broke you so badly that you are not capable of feeling consistently happy with anyone, namely yourself, before the wolf-child inside you needs to tear them apart, feast on the juicy vulnerabilities they entrusted to you, spread their entrails around town and then blame them for the carnal mess left behind.

Yet despite the blood dripping down your face, your charming mask remains perfectly in place, a lifetime of practice no doubt.

Sadly I know other women are destined to ignore the bloody warnings and suffer the same fate.

I know I certainly waved away women who were kind enough to warn me telling me to run and not walk away from you.

Naively, I had hoped that with enough effort and honest communication, one day things would change.

That if I was good enough and supportive enough, if I was just creative enough, pretty enough, successful enough, sexy enough, the PLUR acronym or LOVE HARDER phrase you throw around so opportunistically as part of your personal brand would actually emerge from its hiding place inside all your anger and the love would shine its light onto the world.

But it won’t.
These are just slogans, overused philosophies you spout for personal gain but couldn’t be further from embodying.

The light you take such public pride in shining is merely another avenue used to strengthen your ego and gain more of the power you chase.

Once I had mastered one of the qualities you have told me so many times I lacked, the rules to your game changed.

There was suddenly something new that was disappointing you.

You are addicted to the need of being in control, luring someone in, parading them around for your image, devouring them whole and then eventually spitting them out, a cruel punishment you convince yourself they deserve for being weak enough to love you.

And should any of these women have enough self esteem after months of subtle abuse to still have their own opinions, question your actions and enough energy to express themselves and their needs as I did, hell hath no fury.

It is easier to sit in silence and take the unwarranted rage in private, rather than publicly anger the beast and face such cruel, petty and vengeful retaliation that it will turn every belief she’s held about humanity, kindness and intimacy on its head.

Smear Campaigns based on the the most sweet, intimate secrets she’s entrusted to you are in no way off limits, distorted versions weaponised and laughed about with your friends and family for maximum discrediting and humiliation over the top character assassinations screaming obscenities in rooms full of people.

Lies and exaggerations told to turn her closest friends against her and public shunning are a preferred form of torture and eventually she will have to face it all alone.

Then, once she’s suffered enough, you will come back as though nothing has happened with a nonsensical text messages.

She will be too raw and exhausted to start the pain over again by bringing up the fight and so relieved that the punishment is over, and that it is swept under the rug, until the next time.

Oh, but should she react, should she remain rightfully angry and hurt, should she attempt to discuss her feelings, she will be called crazy, emotional and over reactive, and have her valid pain minimised and talked over until it is pointless to even try.

Should your cruelty break her completely and she screams, cries or yells back in your face out of sheer frustration and self preservation, that is all what will be discussed.

Her behaviour but Never yours.

A talking point you will repeatedly use against her in all future fights.

And even then her reaction will be twisted and exaggerated to the point that you now claim victim status and she will end up apologising to you.

Once this began happening to me on a regular basis, I lost so much of myself that I eventually stopped fighting back as it was the only way I was able to find relief.

I want those who are caught up in this hell to know they are not alone.

If you are in a relationship with a Narcissist you will likely find my story being very similar to yours.

Narcissists are Pathological once you learn the games they play, they are entirely predictable and you could set a watch to their behaviour.

Narcissistic Abuse doesn’t happen suddenly, it is insidious and creeping in slowly until one day you don’t recognise yourself.

It is the epitome of domestic violence, a slowly dehumanising and purposeful soul rape.

Narcissists install a mental filter in our head, managing our expectations down a little bit at a time.

Before we know it, everything we do, say or think goes through a filter.

Our own desires are brushed aside so often that eventually we are conditioned to not have them.

Expressing our needs only leads to pain.

Recovering from this abuse is heinous, nonlinear and at times, feels never ending.

I am a year into healing and it is still aching.

I loved who you were when you were kind.

I loved who you could be.

But I have come to realise that I don’t know who you are and maybe I never did.

I wish this could mean as little to me as it does you.

I wish I understood why?
I wish this made sense.
I wish I could shut it off.
I have wished that for quite sometime now.
I wish I could brush the rubble of what happened off my shoulders and keep dancing.

I haven’t mastered that grace, though I keep trying.

No matter how many months I have ignored your incessant texts, emails and heartfelt apologies, some nights are raw and the words get in.

Truthfully, at times I yearned to hear them.

I have fallen back into your promises, your grandiose cosmic epiphanies of love and tearful apologetic remorse time and time and time and then embarrassingly, shamefully, time again.

That is how badly I wanted to believe you.

I have questioned my sanity, my desperation to be loved, to be known, to have a partner, to prove to you that I am not the dark evil person you have told me along with anyone who still believes you, that I am.

My head was spinning sideways from living in fear of your next rage or sudden disappearance, the lighting bolt switching from devoted love to intense vindictive disgust for seemingly no reason, yet always said it was something my behaviour initiated, and having to constantly walk on eggshells at times I was too exhausted to get out of bed.

I was too overwhelmed to leave my apartment.

I jumped at loud noises.
I saw a Post Traumatic Stress Disorder therapist.

During the worst of it, my sense of self was so non existent and felt there was nothing left to live for.

It was during the times when I was the most vulnerable that you would come in for the kill, disappearing for days or weeks but not before making sure to let me know that I deserved all of it.

What I’m finally learning is that I don’t owe you anything.

What I do have to learn is to give myself the love I swam so hard upstream to win from someone who never had it to give it.

It is a battle I am fighting everyday.

Still, inexplicably I don’t wish you harm.

The love I felt for you can’t be shutoff cruelly the way you have done so easily time and time again.

Part of me still feels deeply for the sad little boy inside you, the one who throws tantrums and hurts people before they can hurt him.

But there is nothing anyone can do to help that little boy and I can’t hold him close anymore.

I don’t want to play your game any longer and I have no strength left in me.

I don’t believe your tearful stories of remorse and self reflection when the only changes I see is the grey in your hair.

Freedom begins with me facing reality, accepting my responsibility and admitting the truth of who you have been to me and finally letting you go.


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